


The Wet Blanket Air of Midnight

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary breathes in the night air and tastes the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wet Blanket Air of Midnight

Mary Winchester stood by the back door in her nightgown, close enough to smell the electric metal tang of the screen. No breeze moved to stir the cotton fabric around her legs; the stiflingly hot day had given way to a muggy night and the darkness outside felt heavy and still. John lay upstairs, soft snores muted by the hum of the air conditioner. Dean's small eyes had flickered under their blue-veined lids as she straightened the sheet over him.

The storm door creaked as she opened it and slipped outside, stepping gingerly from the sticky linoleum of the kitchen floor to the rough concrete of the back steps. But the grass felt beautiful under her bare feet, the ground the only cool thing in the humid darkness. The light over the stove shone from inside, but when Mary turned around and looked out toward the unlit expanse of back yards it was nothing but a dim glow at the edges of her vision.

Early September, and very soon the nights would grow cool, the days dry and windy. Early September, and the fields outside of town were heavy with crops, busy with harvest. Early September, and Mary fell asleep early every evening, waking in the night with dreams she couldn't remember.

She hadn't bled in six weeks.

She hadn't told John, hadn't gone to the doctor, just sat curled on her secret like it was a blue speckled egg. When she spoke the words, the child would be real, an irrevocable truth. In the breathless night with no moon, no wind, no thunder, the future felt like a fantasy. In the heavy, humid darkness, Mary cupped her hands over her stomach and thought of how an egg could be cradled--or cracked.

In six hours John would wake up and go out into the day. In six weeks, Dean would pick out his first costume for Halloween. In six months, Mary would wax full and round as the moon was always, even when it hid in darkness.

Mary felt the fine hairs on her arms rise up away from her skin, a hum of electricity she could feel along her neck, and then lightning crackled in the distance. One heartbeat, two, and thunder shook the air, reverberating in Mary's belly. A breeze swept low across the ground, blowing her loose gown tight against her front, billowing it out the back.

She tilted her head up to catch the first drops of rain on her face, and they ran back to cool the sweaty skin at her hairline. When the overburdened clouds gave way to heavy rain, she lifted her hands to the sky and let the water cool her skin, drenching her hair until it ran rivulets down into her eyes.

John would be awake inside, shaken out of sleep by the storm as he always was. She would go inside and let him peel the drenched fabric from her body, dry her hair with a towel until it was a tangled mess. She would whisper her secret into his ear and let the dream inside her body bleed through to reality. In six minutes, she would see the fear and the joy in his eyes and know that she wasn't alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Text of the challenge:
> 
> _This is the wet blanket air of midnight.  
> This is the incremental hour.  
> This is the plastic placemat of time  
> between reality and make-believe.  
> This is tabletop dream time. _
> 
> _-Lisa Zaran_


End file.
